


Smite, smote, smitten

by jwnchstr



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Artist Castiel (Supernatural), Bisexual Dean Winchester, Caffeine Addiction, Lonely Dean Winchester, M/M, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Openly Bisexual Dean Winchester, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Roommates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-08-23 06:55:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16614062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jwnchstr/pseuds/jwnchstr
Summary: "Looking for a roommate to move in ASAP. $300 a month. The apartment has two bedrooms, one bathroom and fast internet. Quiet people and neat freaks preferred. No pets (I’m allergic). Male or female doesn’t matter. I’m 25 and I work part time as a mechanic. That’s about all you need to know but if you have questions, just ask."▪ ▪ ▪In which Cas is Dean's new roommate and Dean tries not to fall in love.





	1. Chapter 1

Searching for a new roommate might be one of the most surprisingly difficult tasks Dean Winchester has attempted in his entire life, of course apart from raising his little brother Sam practically all by himself. With an absent father and a dead mother, childhood was lonely. Having a close to non-existent social life as an adult sadly mirrors said loneliness, but what’s more urgent is that it makes finding a roommate close to impossible.

Charlie met Dorothy, and it didn’t take many months before Charlie moved out and Dean was without roommate. Judging by her history, Dean had expected a short fling and hadn’t worried, but suddenly, and he isn’t sure how the hell it had happened because to him it had felt like they had just met, Charlie had announced that the two of them were getting their own place. Said and done, away she went, along with her half of the rent.

So, here he is, a couple of hundred bucks short for this month’s rent, despite having advertised for a roommate in the newspaper, as well as every nearby cities’ newspapers, and even on his Facebook. The Facebook post was the final act of a very desperate man. 

Dean re-reads the post, beer in hand, hopelessly scanning it for some crazy mistake that could be the cause of the non-existent replies; As if Sam would’ve shared it if it hadn’t been comprehensible and reflecting Dean’s intentions perfectly. He searches for them anyway. 

_Looking for a roommate to move in ASAP. $300 a month. The apartment has two bedrooms, one bathroom and fast wi-fi. Quiet people and neat freaks preferred. No pets (I’m allergic). Male or female doesn’t matter. I’m 25 and I work part time as a mechanic. That’s about all you need to know but if you have questions, just ask._

Short and straight to the point, he thinks. Dean worries it might be a little bit too brief, but remembers that Sam had deemed it acceptable once Dean had removed a parenthesis about how he ‘swings both ways’ after the male or female part—Sam hadn’t found the joke amusing at all. Dean had thought it was hilarious. Sam had said he wasn’t looking for a date and how he needed the post to sound formal and serious, and had rolled his eyes so hard his entire upper body had rolled in perfect sync along with them. 

His post has been shared by two people: Sam and Charlie. With one like each by the same people, and a couple of what he can only describe as sympathy likes from a few random people he doesn’t know. This is absolutely unbelievable—not even Sam, the dork with over two thousand friends on Facebook, as if he has sent a friend request to every person he has ever met, has been able to help by sharing the post. Charlie, who in opposite to Dean is the worst kind of social butterfly, surprisingly couldn’t help much either. In addition to the very chivalrous act of sharing his Facebook post, both of them had asked around among friends with no luck. Dean is starting to think this is some kind of sick joke thrown at him by the universe itself or even worse: punishment for sins of a past life he can’t remember. 

But all these things considered, Dean has already concluded that it is a relief that Charlie moved out. He loves that woman—he really, genuinely does—but she is one hell of a challenge to live with. So, no more noisy movie nights with all of her friends has been warmly welcome. Not having to clean up the mess left behind after the movie nights—most nights, actually—has also been a treat, but being unable to pay rent once he lost her contribution is a catastrophe. 

He rubs his eyes before taking a sip of his beer. Desperate times call for desperate measures and all that jazz, but he refuses to borrow money from Sammy, which means he’s utterly and completely fucked. 

Just as he’s about to close his computer, there’s an un-familiar sound, followed by a pop-up at the top of the page. Dean is so shocked by the text he almost spits out his beer—’Castiel Novak has commented on your post’. He clicks on the notification. 

**Castiel Novak:** _I am in need of a roommate, as well. DM me._

He stares blankly at the screen and re-reads the comment a few times. So, Dean might be entirely useless with computers and social media in particular, but he isn’t so clueless that he doesn’t know he should check the guy’s profile before even thinking of striking up a conversation. He clicks on the name—which is suspiciously weird, by the way—and the man’s profile opens up. 

Dean’s first thought is that the dude’s profile pic isn’t a selfie, which of course would’ve ruled him out as a possible candidate instantly—the second thought is, regrettably, that the guy is handsome as all hell. Blue eyes, black messy hair, stubble, and business casual wearing a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up toned, tan arms. He stores that second thought away while he keeps browsing the page, learning that this Castiel Novak guy is studying English and that he works extra at a bar. A few weeks ago he shared an article about same sex marriage and he frequently posts pictures of drawings he seems to have made himself—an artsy not homophobic dude should at the very least be quiet. Dean doesn’t really mind tidying if it’s kept to a minimum. He’s a promising candidate, Dean decides. He’s also the _only_ candidate, he reminds himself. 

The best part is that he doesn’t strike Dean as a serial killer, which he bitterly realizes is the one thing he can be picky about right now, so he manages to find the button to open up a conversation with Castiel. 

_hey_ he types with his index fingers. He re-reads the word a few times, contemplating whether or not he should put an exclamation point at the end and decides not to, before pressing enter, watching the word zap into the conversation box. He leans back in his chair, taking another sip of his beer, and waits. Since Castiel commented on his post just a few minutes ago, he should answer soon, right? He stares at the conversation. Nothing yet. A few minutes pass, the beer bottle now empty. 

He taps his fingers against the kitchen bar. He smacks his lips. He peers down the neck of the bottle to confirm it’s empty. 

Just as he is about to give up and go play video games or something, instead, the computer makes a sound, and two words appear below his in the conversation box. 

**Castiel Novak:** _Hello, Dean._

Dean rolls up his sleeves and hovers his hands above the keyboard. Show time. 

**Dean Winchester:** _so you're interested in the place? :)_

Sam always says he should use emojis because ‘it looks nicer that way’—no matter how unnatural and unlike him it feels. He presses enter, the words along with the silly smiley face disappearing into cyberspace or whatever messages do on the internet only to reappear a split second later inside their conversation. At least it’s out of his control now. 

A few moments go past before he can see the little dots indicating that Castiel is typing. The dude sure takes his sweet time. Dean goes to get another beer while he waits, opening the bottle with his car keys as he sits back down by the kitchen bar. 

**Castiel Novak:** _Yes, I am very interested in the apartment. I was recently kicked out by my roommate and need a place to live as soon as possible._

Dean frowns. Suspicious. 

**Dean Winchester:** _if you don’t mind me asking…… why were you kicked out_

Enter. Waiting. 

**Castiel Novak:** _I don’t mind your asking. I was kicked out because I was in the way when he wanted his partner to move in._

 **Dean Winchester:** _im in the same situation but the opposite, my roommate moved out on me when she wanted to move in with her gf._

 **Dean Winchester:** _anyway do you have any questions abt the place or me?_

Back to waiting. Dean clicks on Castiel’s profile again, of course just to make sure he can’t find anything suspicious or weird. Seeing the profile picture again, he’s reminded of that little fact he stored away. He clicks the picture which pops up on the screen in a bigger format. The guy is smiling in the picture, the skin at the corners of his eyes wrinkling a little bit, though he doesn’t look much older than Dean. He clicks on the picture, which reveals another picture. This time a drawing; A self-portrait, by the looks of it. He sure has talent, Dean thinks as he clicks again and sees another picture. In this one Castiel is wearing glasses and he’s looking down at a piece of paper on the table in front of him. He’s drawing something, but what truly gets Dean’s attention is how the t-shirt he’s wearing exposes his arms. Dean wonders who took the pictures. 

The computer chimes, and there’s a new message. 

**Castiel Novak:** _I have insomnia. Would you mind that I am awake most of the time? I mostly draw or study at night so I am quiet like you asked for in the ad. I use earphones if I listen to music._

So, the guy is odd and seems to have no sense of what is TMI by the looks of things, but if insomnia is the worst thing about him, it shouldn’t be a major problem. He shrugs.

 **Dean Winchester:** _thats fine, i can’t see why id mind._

 **Castiel Novak:** _Do you throw many parties?_

Pff.

 **Dean Winchester:** _no_

 **Castiel Novak:** _Me neither._

 **Castiel Novak:** _So, rent is $300? I would get my own bedroom? I assume you value tidiness based on what you wrote in your post. I’m very tidy. I love animals but I have no pets._

Being the only contestant, Dean had expected this to be a complete flop. What are the odds that the only person responding to his post doesn’t actually seem all that bad? Sure, he seems a bit weird, but not serial killer weird.

 **Dean Winchester:** _yup to all of that. and yeah, my last roommate was very messy and i had to clean up after her a lot. id prefer someone likeminded. if i see one more explosion of popcorn on my living room floor i will lose my mind_

 **Castiel Novak:** _I don’t eat popcorn._

 **Dean Winchester:** _awesome…_

 **Dean Winchester:** _what do u say we meet up and talk more in person?_

The bill for the rent burns a hole in the surface of the counter at the corner of his eye. 

**Castiel Novak:** _When and where?_

▪ ▪ ▪

The younger Winchester comes over in the afternoon the next day. He visits so often that by now he doesn’t even ring the doorbell. Dean is watching TV as he arrives, feet propped up on the coffee table next to the unwashed plate from his lunch. Sam is still wearing his job uniform—the yellow polo and khaki pants associated with the depressing tech support he works extra at. 

“You still watch this show?” Sam asks as he flops down on the couch next to Dean. 

“Shh,” Dean says, raising a finger to his lips. “Dr. Piccolo is about to sneak into Dr. Sexy’s office to find out what he’s been hiding from her.”

Despite focusing his gaze on the TV screen, Dean can tell that Sam is rolling his eyes, but he smiles too. Dr. Piccolo starts roaming through Dr. Sexy’s desk drawers. All she finds is papers and pencils, and strangely enough, a busted up crime novel (Dean assumes this will be important later on, or it won’t—there’s no way of telling, yet). She flicks through the pages before resuming to turning over each and every paper in the desk drawers in her search for something incriminating.

“How’s the roommate hunt going?” Sam asks, ignoring Dean’s request for silence. He looks at the screen as he speaks. 

“Finally got a bite earlier yesterday,” Dean answers with an earnest smile. 

“Dude, that’s awesome!” Sam exclaims, moving to sit on the edge of the couch as if this is the most suspenseful news he’s ever heard, and turns to Dean. “Man, woman? Who is it? Someone I know?”

The female doctor closes the final desk drawer with a loud bang just as Dr. Sexy walks into his office—followed by a dramatic staring contest, and then a cut to commercials. 

“Some dude named Castiel. He commented on that Facebook post you shared a couple of weeks ago,” Dean answers, feigning disinterest with a shrug, as if a clear display of excitement would jinx it, before he picks up the empty plate from the coffee table. He gets up and walks toward the kitchen with it. “We’ll meet up later for coffee.”

“Is that the guy who works at the bar?” Sam stretches out on the worn-down leather couch. His enormous body barely fits, feet on top of the arm rest. He crosses his arms over his chest as he tries to get comfortable, one of his shoulders crammed against the back of the couch. 

Dean snorts. Only Sam would send a friend request to a bartender he barely knows. He reaches the sink and starts washing the plate. 

“That’s right,” Dean says over his shoulder. 

“He’s cool. Generous with drinks.”

“So not a serial killer?”

Sam hums for a moment. “Don’t think so. Seems harmless to me. Just posts pics of his drawings and liberal articles.”

“I could tell,” Dean says as he walks back into the living room just as the show begins again. “I dunno, I’m not getting my hopes up. We’ll see when we’ve met. I literally can’t afford to be picky so even if he’s a downright weirdo I might let him live here for a while just so I can save up some cash to pay the rent myself until I can find someone better.” He gestures for Sam to sit up so he can fit on the couch. 

There’s a surgery scene on the show now—a flashback to the moment Dr. Piccolo realized that something was up between her and Dr. Sexy. 

“I suppose it’s worth the risk,” Sam says. He frowns, prompted by the show. “This show is a wild ride.”

“Tell me about it.” Dr. Piccolo gasps and slaps Dr. Sexy on the cheek. “Anyway, how dangerous could an English major slash bartender be? He said he has insomnia. Maybe he’s too sleepy to be a serial killer.”

“Huh,” Sam just says. 

They watch the show in silence for a while. It turns out what Dr. Sexy has been hiding from Dr. Piccolo is an engagement ring—he’s been keeping it in the pocket of his doctor’s coat this entire time. 

“Hey, last time I was here he was dating that blonde nurse,” Sam complains. 

“Just enjoy the ride, Sammy.”

Sam does, for almost a minute.

“When are you meeting Castiel?” he asks once he can’t stand the drama anymore. 

“In like an hour.”

“You should ask him to prove that he makes money so you can make sure he’s actually able to pay rent.”

“But you already confirmed that he works at the bar.” 

The show ends with a dramatic frozen image of Dr. Piccolo’s face right after Dr. Sexy asks her to marry him, which then fades to black. 

“Just to be on the safe side. It’s the normal thing to do, anyway. He should expect you to ask.”

Dean drives Sam—once he refuses to watch another episode of Dr. Sexy—home before he heads over to the coffee shop he’s supposed to meet Castiel at. It’s just a short drive from Sam’s place to the coffee shop he chose—he barely has the time to listen to one full song until he steers Baby into the parking lot outside. Her purrs fade out as he twists the key to shut off the engine. He remains inside the car for a while to mentally prepare, hands still on the wheel. 

The little bell by the door chimes once he enters, the strong smell of coffee hitting him instantly. He looks around, hoping he’ll be able to spot the guy despite the only way of recognizing him is to compare him to the three pictures he has seen; Of course, one of which was a drawing, and one where he could barely see his face. 

He doesn’t seem to have arrived yet, so Dean decides to order a coffee. He argues with the barista for a moment, assuring him that he just wants plain black coffee. The barista looks ridiculously shocked, and hesitantly hands Dean the cup. 

There’s an empty table by the window where Dean sits down. He fiddles with the salt and pepper shakers on the table while waiting for the coffee to cool down enough for a first sip. 

“Dean?” The voice comes from his right.

That’s definitely the guy he’s here to see. He’s wearing a white shirt like on his profile picture, but this time it’s buttoned at the cuffs, leaving everything to the imagination. Dean notices this with disappointment and reminds himself how desperately he needs a _roommate_ , nothing else. The stubble on his jaw and chin looks a couple of days old. He has a smudged, black stain on his cheek. Dean reaches out a hand as he stands. 

“Guilty,” he says, shaking the guy’s hand. He has a firm grip. “Sorry, I didn’t know what you wanted so I didn’t get you anything.”

“Cas,” he confirms. “I’ll go order something.”

So what if Dean checks him out while he’s standing at the counter getting his coffee. He needs a roommate but he’s not dead. It doesn’t mean he’ll act on it. He’s determined to keep this professional, the decision only having a little bit to do with Sam’s reminder to ‘keep it in his pants’ before he had removed that parenthesis from the ad. He smells the coffee and his attention directs back to the hot beverage instead. It tastes delicious; With that price tag, he expects nothing less. A couple of minutes later Cas returns empty-handed. 

“Weren’t you ordering?” Dean asks.

“He will yell once it’s done.”

“Alright,” Dean says. “So…” 

“I have a few questions,” Cas begins, thankfully taking control of the situation.

“Shoot.”

“What sort of music do you enjoy?”

Weird. “Like...rock music?”

“Is that a question?”

“I like rock,” Dean says, a bit more confident now. “My favorite band is Led Zeppelin.”

“Noted. I have one question that might be a bit weird,” Cas says, as if his last question wasn’t oddly specific. “Are you by any chance, or should I say risk, homophobic?”

It takes a moment to process the question; Dean is taken aback by it. He shakes his head and lifts his hands as if he can physically push the question away. “Hell no, I’m actually—”

“Good. I do not want to make that mistake again. When would I be able to move in?”

“Dude, to be honest with you… yesterday.”

“Great.”

“Hey, I was told to— I mean, could you give me some proof of your income? Nothing personal, I just need to know you’ll be able to pay the rent, ya know.”

Cas immediately slides a paper over the table—as if conjured straight out of his hands once prompted—right before the barista calls out his name as a question. “Here’s a print-out of my bank account from the last three months. You may compare it to my bank account in the phone app, if you want to.” He stands, and walks away. 

Dean skims the text and numbers on the paper: Mostly art supplies and coffee, by the looks of it. Lots and lots of coffee. Gas. Groceries. A Netflix subscription. Most important, enough money to still pay rent. 

Cas returns with a giant cup. There’s whipped cream, with what appears to be chocolate sprinkled on top, and it smells sickly sweet. He sips it through a thick straw. Dean stares at the bizarre concoction in front of him. 

“What?” Cas sits down. 

“Nothing.”

“Is everything in order?” he raises his eyebrows and tilts his head towards the paper in Dean’s hands. 

“Looks fine, man,” Dean says and puts down the piece of paper. “Uh, by the way… you got something on your face.”

Castiel’s eyes widen, hand reaching up to touch his face. “Where?” he asks, frantically rubbing at the wrong cheek. “Here?”

“No, uh…” Dean hesitates for a moment, then shows where the dark spot would be on his own face. “Here— No, a bit more to the left. There— Oh, no, you just kinda made it worse now.”

Cad presses his lips together and lowers his hand. “It must be charcoal. Not the best day to start experimenting, I suppose.”

“I saw on your Facebook page that you draw,” Dean says, relieved to smoothly be able to continue the conversation with the perfect reply. 

“Yes, it’s a hobby of mine.”

“You’re good at it,” Dean says. 

“That’s a nice compliment. Thank you, Dean.” 

“You’re welcome,” Dean says. 

“So you’re a mechanic?”

“Yeah. This friend of the family owns a garage. I fix cars and do the boring paperwork, basically.”

“Did you go to school for that?”

“Nah,” Dean says with a shrug. He leans back in his chair and puts his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket which he is still wearing. “My dad taught me how to fix cars when I was growing up.” He doesn’t add how sporadic the ‘classes’ were, for reasons one simply doesn’t get into during a first meeting with a person. “I guess you could say that cars are a hobby of mine. The paperwork wasn’t hard to learn.” Dean finishes his coffee while Cas sips his through the straw. “What did you order?” he asks.

“Vanilla latte with hazelnut syrup. Three shots of espresso.” He puts the cup down. “I need my sugar. And caffeine. I believe I told you about the insomnia. My last roommate thought it was a massive issue.” He purses his lips, a bitter tone to his words. 

“You told me. It don’t matter as long as you let me get _my_ beauty sleep.”

“It doesn’t look like you need it, but I’m always quiet. No need to worry.”

Dean can feel his cheeks heating, but come to think of it, the room is very warm, and he is still wearing his jacket. He picks up his mug, realizes it’s empty, and pretends to take a sip. 

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” Cas simply asks as if the intimation was but a hallucination, perhaps invoked by a caffeine overdose or wishful thinking. 

Dean clears his throat, hoping the awkward tension he’s painfully aware of will magically disappear if he just focuses on the polite small talk. “Yeah, I think you know Sam? I guess that’s how you saw my Facebook post. He says he went to the bar you work at.”

“Oh, is he very tall?”

“Ginormous.”

“Then, yes,” Cas says with a nod. “I have more siblings than you’d be able to remember if I told you all of their names, so I won’t. I don’t see them very often, anymore.” He stops there. Dean is sure there’s more to this story, judging by the way Cas’s gaze drops, but just like Dean doesn’t talk about the drunk he regrets to call his father to an absolute stranger—or anyone, really—Cas doesn’t elaborate, and Dean just nods in a way he hopes looks understanding. “Well, anyway,” Cas then says, putting his hands flat on the table. “That’s a story for another day.”

Dean smiles politely. “I’m sorry if it looks like I stalked you, but… I saw on your profile that you study English. What’s the story there?”

“It would be unwise of you not to do your research on me. I don’t mind,” Cas says. “And yes, I do. There’s not much of a story to it. I just have an interest in the English language. Right now I’m taking a literature course.”

“So a lot of reading, huh?”

“You could say that. But since I don’t sleep much I have a lot of time to read.”

They make small talk for a while. Dean tells Cas more about Sam, and a little bit about his hobbies —about his recent passion for video games, about his lifelong interest in cars and about how he apparently loves cooking, a discovery he had made once when Charlie forced him to come to a cooking class with her so she could check out the teacher. Before he knows it, he has promised Cas a home cooked meal.

Soon, Dean finishes a second cup of coffee. Cas is still working through his first.

“Listen,” Cas says once they finish talking about the one sibling Cas is still in contact with (Dean thinks he picked up the name Gabriel), “I don’t want to intrude, but I wasn’t lying when I said I really need a roommate. I know we’ve only talked for,” he looks down at his wrist watch, “approximately one hour, but would you say I have a shot?”

“As far as I’m concerned, the room is yours,” Dean says simply. 

“Really? That’s a relief. But I would like to see the place first, of course, if that is alright with you.”

“I got time.”

Cas receives a paper mug from the barista, adding a fourth shot of espresso while he’s at it, and takes his coffee to go.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why is Dean so awkward, anyway?

Dean bursts with pride when he shows Cas the Impala, his gleaming grin reflecting in the shiny black hood. He pats the roof much like a cowboy would stroke his beloved horse. 

“This is a most laudable car, Dean,” Cas says, and Dean’s chest feels full. 

“She used to be my dad’s and now she’s mine,” he explains and gets his first glimpse of a contagious smile from Cas. “Hop in.”

Dean opens the heavy, creaking door and gets in, Cas doing the same on the other side. Dean puts the key in the ignition and twists, and the Impala comes to life with a loud purr. Cas jumps in his seat as loud music starts playing right at the chorus of _Back in Black_ where Dean left off, the contents of his paper cup dangerously close to staining his white shirt. Dean turns the music down with an apologetic smile. Cas licks his thumb clean from coffee, Dean’s gaze lingering for just a moment before he returns his focus to the steering wheel.

“That should wake you right up, huh?” He laughs and steps on the gas pedal, the engine roaring as he urges the car out of the parking lot. “But I guess that’s the opposite of your problem.”

“I suppose you’re right.” He laughs politely. “I like your music,” he then says—Dean is uncertain whether or not the dude is just making small talk or if he’s sincere. “It’s different to what I normally listen to and you turn it up a little bit too loud for my taste, but I can see the appeal.” He holds his paper cup steadily with both of his hands as he watches the road. 

“It’s not for everyone,” Dean agrees. 

“My last roommate only listened to the Billboard Hot 100. It was torturous.”

Dean raises his eyebrows in theatrical horror. “That shit’s prohibited within my walls, man,” he says.

Cas simply chuckles for an answer—the sound as captivating as his smile—just as they arrive at Dean’s apartment building, an inconspicuous pile of old bricks three stories tall next to a nearly identical construction to the right. Dean eases the Impala into the parking lot between the buildings. 

They get out of the car, the sound of the heavy doors slamming shut echoing between the brick walls. 

Cas eyes the building up and down. “This building bears a close resemblance to my old place. I hope you don’t have cockroaches.” He furrows his eyebrows and crinkles his nose.

“Completely bug free as far as I know,” Dean answers with a shrug before opening the door for Cas to walk in first. “There’s no elevator, though. It broke last summer.”

They climb the stairs up to the top floor. Dean swallows the heavy breaths threatening to reveal how out of shape he is, and opens the door to his place, a hand reached out urging Cas to enter. He steps inside and immediately starts to meticulously look around the combined kitchen and living space, his hands resting on his hips. Dean mirrors his body language by his side. The kitchen has all necessities despite its limited space. It’s U-shaped with a bar with space for two stools, serving as a substitute for a kitchen table. The living room area consists of a second hand leather couch, a coffee table, and Dean’s most expensive possessions save for the Impala; The TV with an accompanying DVD player and the Playstation Sam gave him as a Christmas gift a couple of years ago. There’s also an armchair which at the moment serves as a storage spot for old DVD cases. Lastly, there’s a bookcase filled with Dean’s record collection with a record player on top. 

“Kitchen and living room,” Dean narrates. “There’s space for you to put some of your crap here, as you can see. Charlie took a lot of the stuff when she moved out.”

“This is sufficient,” Cas comments and wanders into the room without locking his gaze in one and the same spot for more than a couple of seconds. “I don’t have much furniture.”

Dean shows the way through the hallway to the room that would be Cas’s. It’s completely empty except for an old generic IKEA lamp which Charlie didn’t want in one of the corners. There’s grey carpet on the floor and plain white walls, one with a window through which one can watch the street outside. 

“It ain’t big,” Dean says, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching Cas in the middle of the room. “But Charlie managed to get a queen sized in here, and a dresser. There’s enough room for sure even if it looks tiny.”

“The space seems adequate to me. May I see the bathroom?”

“‘Course.” 

Sink, shower, toilet—there’s not much else to it except for the floor to ceiling cabinet. Cas takes a couple of seconds before he returns to the living room again where Dean is waiting, sitting on one of the bar stools. 

“Well?” Dean urges. 

Cas takes a sip of his coffee. It would take a miracle for the beverage to still be even lukewarm. If it were Dean, he’d pull a disgusted face at the taste, but Cas’s expression reveals nothing about the coffee. 

He moves to stand next to Dean. “This place is excellent,” he adds with an expectant smile.

Dean chuckles awkwardly. “Your last place must have really been a dump if that’s how you describe this one. You can move in whenever as far as I’m concerned.”

“May I ask you for a favor, Dean?” Cas asks gravely. He discards of the paper cup in the bin. 

“Try me,” Dean answers. 

“I need someone to help me move my stuff,” Cas begins with hesitation in his voice. He pauses and seems to interpret something on Dean’s face. “There’s just a few things,” he continues, words rushed. “My bed and dresser, a bookcase and an armchair and two or three moving boxes and a bag with my clothes.” He counts all the things listed on his fingers. “All the furniture should fit and if not I can get rid of it.”

Dean pats Cas on the shoulder and gives him a reassuring smile. Cas’s shoulders relax. “I’ll call that giant baby brother of mine,” Dean says, and Cas squints.

▪ ▪ ▪

Sam and Cas instantly bond over something as mediocre as _grammar_ , and Dean is forced to listen to them gush all over each other when they say something the other deems impressing. It’s the most annoying thing to listen to them while carrying heavy objects down the stairs.

“Look,” Dean says, carrying most of the weight of the heavy dresser at the bottom of the stairs, “I’m thrilled you guys have found each other and all, but could we please postpone the wedding before I drop this thing?”

They got a hold of a trailer from Bobby’s garage and it doesn’t take more than an hour to move Cas’s stuff into it. Being three, the job is easy. Sam manages to carry the bookcase by himself while Dean and Cas ease the mattress into the elevator, and then all three of them carry the bedframe down the stairs. 

Once all the stuff is in the trailer, they drive back to begin the work of moving everything up all the stairs into Dean’s apartment, and if Dean thought going down the stairs was difficult, going _up_ was hellish. But a couple of hours and a minor accident which bruised Dean’s arm later, they’re finally done. All three of them sit down on the floor in Cas’s new room, backs against the bed, Cas with one Winchester brother on either side. 

“Beer?” Dean asks. 

“I’ll get some,” Cas offers, and stands before Dean has time to protest. 

“Bottom shelf!” Dean calls out for Cas once he’s left the room. “So?” Dean turns to Sam. 

“So, what?”

“What do you think?” Dean tilts his head towards the doorway. 

“Oh, I like him. He’s weird,” Sam says and nods, “but nice. Can’t help but notice that he’s your type.” He adds that last part with a suggestive glance in Dean’s direction.

“Shut it,” Dean warns. “I don’t have a type. Besides, I thought you told me not to—”

They can hear Cas’s steps approaching through the hallway. Dean puts a finger to his mouth and hushes, jamming his elbow gently into Sam’s side. Sam just smirks. Cas returns with three bottles and hands two of them to the Winchester brothers. 

“You have a lot of beer, Dean,” he comments as he sits down between them. He smells of sweat and subtle cologne. So what if Dean _did_ have a type, Cas would be it? Sam watches Dean watching Cas. Dean swallows some beer and ignores another suggestive look from Sam. 

“It’s a Winchester staple.” Dean explains.

“I mostly drink coffee,” Cas says. “I think I told you I have insomnia.”

“Once or twice,” Dean says with a chuckle. “I have coffee too, don’t worry.”

“Good. If you didn’t, I’d have to run and get some immediately.”

Dean snorts again, shaking his head as he sips his beer. The three of them sit in silence for a while, focusing on their drinks, relaxing their tired muscles. 

“Well.” Sam is the first to break the silence. “I guess I’ll leave you guys to it.”

“You leaving so soon?” Dean asks, hoping no one can tell how panic is rising in his chest—he had hoped he wouldn’t have to be alone with his new roommate so soon. Sam frowns, and Dean realizes his little brother can tell exactly how much he’s freaking out.

“I kinda have a date,” Sam says with an apologetic look.

This smothers some of Dean’s panic and he waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Well, then,” he says, the two simple words urging Sam to tell him more.

Sam makes a bored face. “I’ll tell you how it went after,” he offers.

“What’s she look like?” Dean asks and pushes his shoulder against Cas’s, a request for him to chime in. Cas says nothing but expectantly turns to Sam.

Sam stands and swallows the last remains of his beer. “I’ll tell you everything after,” he repeats. “It was real nice meeting you, Cas,” he says, now turning to Cas with a genuine smile reserved just for him. 

Just like that, the younger Winchester brother leaves. Dean and Cas remain on the floor of Cas’s new room, sipping their beers for a few moments, silence thick enough to slice with a knife. Dean purses his lips and makes a sound. 

“I guess I’ll… leave you to it,” he says, regretting his choice of words as it’s a close to identical replica of Sam’s statement a few minutes earlier, revealing just how much he’d prefer it if the ground swallowed him whole. He stands and walks out of the room before Cas has a chance to answer.

He finds refuge in his own room behind the closed door. It’s difficult to pretend the smell of Cas’s cologne doesn’t linger on the fabric of his t-shirt, but it’s worth a shot. He spots his laptop on the bed, and opens it. From the room next to his, he can hear Cas moving around—unpacking, hanging clothes in the closet, placing the furniture in the right spots—Dean can only guess by the sounds he produces. He lays down on his stomach on the bed and types in the password for the computer.

The first thing Dean sees on his laptop once he’s granted access is Cas’s Facebook profile—right where he left off the day before. He quickly closes it and opens Netflix instead. A few minutes of aimless scrolling later, he’s somehow back at Cas’s profile. He scrolls and sees some more pictures of Cas and feels creepy. Despite his door being safely shut behind him, he looks over his shoulder. 

When he reaches the very last of all of Cas’s profile pictures—dating all the way back to 2012—Dean decides it’s time to stop. He opens Netflix again. Unsurprisingly, the fact still as disappointing as ever, there’s nothing new since he last checked just a few minutes ago. With a sigh, he closes his laptop again and turns to lay on his back. He taps his fingers against his chest as he stares up into the ceiling. He wonders how long he will have to hide in his room to get used to having a complete stranger for a brand new roommate. 

Suddenly, there’s a loud thump from inside Cas’s room. Dean quits the tapping to listen. Then, another even louder sound of many objects falling onto the floor, followed by what sounds a lot like Cas swearing. Yeah, he definitely needs help. 

Dean finds Cas on the floor, stacking books on top of each other, next to a broken cardboard box. 

“This explains why that box was so fucking heavy.”

Cas looks up at Dean, clearly startled by his arrival. 

“I’m just relieved it didn’t break half way up the stairs earlier,” Cas says with a sigh, beginning the task of moving the books to the bookshelf. 

The room is a mess and looks as if Cas has started unpacking all things at once without any kind of system. Dean’s fingers itch. 

“Do you need any help, man?” Dean asks carefully. 

“Thank you for offering, Dean, but I don’t want to bother you if you have better things to do,” Cas says and stands. He crosses his arms over his chest. “But I was going to ask,” he continues, “if you want to come grocery shopping with me. I was thinking I could cook dinner as a way to say thank you for all the help today. I understand it must feel weird to have a complete stranger in your home.”

“Oh, sure,” Dean says, scratching the back of his head as he ignores that last part. “I need to go to the store anyway.”

“Would it be okay in an hour?”

▪ ▪ ▪

So, his new roommate is gorgeous. That much is obvious. A part of Dean had hoped the pictures on his profile exaggerated that fact, but no such luck. Had he seen this man at a bar he would’ve wanted his number at the very least—though he probably wouldn’t be brave enough to ask for it.

Now this man will sleep in the room next to his. Or, Dean corrects himself, _not_ sleep. This ridiculously handsome stranger will be awake a lot in his apartment. Dean takes his eyes off the road for a second to glance over at Cas in the passenger’s seat. His profile is fascinating—he’s a complete traffic hazard, come to think of it, especially since he’s now wearing a t-shirt (white, but not the transparent kind) instead of a dress shirt; The fabric clings to his upper body, revealing what must be a muscular chest underneath. Dean manages to notice the red light before it’s too late.

“So, you still think the place is great?” Dean asks after he steps on the break and stops the car. He clears his suddenly very dry throat.

“Yeah,” Cas answers with a nod. “It’s a lot better than my last place and I have a feeling the roommate that came with this one is better than the last one, too.”

“Is that so?” The tip of Dean’s ears suddenly feel warm.

“Definitely.” Cas gives Dean a smile that he struggles to interpret. 

The honking from the car behind them draws Dean’s attention back to the road and the traffic light which has turned green. 

Soon, they arrive at the grocery store, and once they exit the car Cas starts approaching the dull building with determined steps, Dean in tow. Equally resolute, he fishes up a note from the pocket of his jeans as they enter the store. Dean’s gotta give it to him—the dude’s efficient.

“I put down the ingredients we need for the lasagna,” Cas explains, showing Dean the note. “I took the liberty of going through the fridge before we left in case you need help remembering what you need.”

“Lasagna, huh?” Dean says, eyeing the words scribbled down on the note. 

“Unless you want something else,” Cas says.

“No, no, lasagna is great.”

Cas picks up a cart and they start going through the produce section. He instructs Dean to pick up some fresh tomatoes and onions, while Cas concentrates on the garlic. Dean does what he’s told.

“So,” Dean begins as he places the bag of onions into the cart.

“So,” Cas repeats, pausing the task of collecting garlic and turns to Dean. They stare blankly at each other. Dean forgets what he was going to say when he realizes just how blue Cas’s eyes are—like the color of the sky or— _is that too cheesy?_ thinks Dean and searches his mind desperately for what he was about to say. Cas squints. 

Dean is sure just a second has passed. “Onions?”

“Onions,” Cas repeats. Again, Dean wishes the ground would swallow him whole; Or better yet, for the world to simply come to an end. 

“Tomatoes,” Dean says and, finger guns pointing in the direction of the tomatoes, walks away. 

He swears to himself as he resolutely puts tomato after tomato into a plastic bag. At the corner of his eye he spots Cas scanning the contents of the pasta shelf. Dean takes his sweet time with the tomatoes, carefully choosing the ripest ones. _If you could come up with a topic to talk about, that’d be great,_ thinks Dean, gently squeezing the tomato in his hand to make sure it’s a decent specimen. 

The brilliant idea of calling Charlie hits him just after he decides this specific tomato will do—he puts it into the bag as he whips out his phone. He turns his back on Cas as the first signals go through. Two beeps—three beeps—

“Hello?”

“Charlie!” Dean exclaims, looking behind his shoulder. Cas looks very busy deciding which pasta to pick. “I need your help. Desperately.”

“Dean, if this is about some guy again, I’ve told you, just be yours—”

“It isn’t! I mean, it is. But not the way you think. It’s my new roommate. We’re at the grocery store together.” Dean lowers his voice into a whisper. “It’s really awkward and I need help coming up with something to talk about.”

Dean can almost _hear_ Charlie roll her eyes at him. “Oh, he’s hot, isn’t he?” she asks. Dean covers his eyes with his palm. 

“That’s besides the point,” he tries. Charlie giggles. 

“As if this doesn’t literally _always_ happen when you’re crushing on some guy, Dean. What the hell is wrong with you, dude? I’ve seen you confidently pick up women for years and not once have you dared asking a guy out no matter how much you wanted to.”

“Shut up and help,” Dean begs. 

“So is he into men?” Charlie asks innocently. She’s chewing on something as she speaks. 

“No!” Dean exclaims. “I mean—” He starts whispering again. “I don’t know. No? I don’t think so. Highly doubt it.”

“How come?”

“This is all besides the point!”

“If you say so, Dean. Just talk about music or something,” Charlie says after swallowing down whatever it is she’s eating. “You must have _something_ in common. Or just get drunk together. Always worked for me.”

“Actually,” Dean says, “that’s not such a bad idea.”

▪ ▪ ▪

With flushed cheeks and sweaty palms, Dean carries the groceries up the stairs an hour or so after the phone call with Charlie. Cas carries two six packs (“Dean, we already have plenty of beer in the fridge,” he had commented when Dean picked them up—Dean had ignored this.)

Surely, the beer had arguably been a problematic decision, but in Dean’s experience, nothing cleared the air as well as slight intoxication, or, in the worst of scenarios, becoming absolutely shitfaced. For this situation, the latter was the most likely.

The possibility of Cas liking men hadn’t even crossed Dean’s mind before Charlie mentioned it. He started looking for signs of it the second they hung up, as if the way he moved could give it away, as if one look would let Dean know for sure—as if anything but Cas acknowledging it out loud (though one can’t just ask such a thing) could confirm it. Dean knows it’s impossible to tell, and yet there’s already three bullet points in his mind: this man is artsy ( _that’s just a stereotype_ , Dean reminds himself as he twists the key and opens the front door), he seems to care about same sex marriage (as any decent person would), and of course, the comment at the coffee shop ( _he was probably just being polite_ , thinks Dean as he puts the three boxes of pasta in the pantry). 

Sam’s words echo in his mind—first the ones about how one shouldn’t hook up with roommates, then the ones about Cas being Dean’s type. Finally he reminds himself that Cas doesn’t play for his team anyway. Dean shakes his head as if the thoughts can be removed that way. Cas reaches for the bag Dean placed for him on the counter, uncovering a protruded hip bone as his t-shirt rides up his body, and Dean realizes for what feels like the millionth time that day that shaking thoughts away is easier said than done.

If he convinces himself this man is totally straight, will it be easier to ignore how absolutely gorgeous he is? Dean has no hope.

“You want a beer?” Dean asks as he moves to sit on top of the kitchen counter. He watches as Cas tries to reorganize the fridge to fit all the groceries. Immediately, he just creates an even bigger mess. 

With a sigh, as he seems to accept the small space and starts squeezing items into the fridge in no particular order, he answers, “Yeah, why not. It’s been a long day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm literally living for Dean being super awkward around men he finds attractive! It's basically canon anyway. Also, thank you so much for the comments on chapter 1, I hope you all will like this chapter too <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay on this chapter! I got caught up with school and then I had some writer's block for a while. Hopefully you'll like this chapter despite the fact that it's kinda short. <3

If there’s anything Charlie would become famous for, it’s not her self-indulgent and cheesy fanfiction, but her drinking games. Dean has lost count of how many mornings he has woken up with a headache and a dry mouth due to Charlie’s brutal rules. Her speciality? _Game of Thrones_. Have a shot every time someone has sex—have two every time the sex scene involves full frontals; have a shot every time Daenerys appears (“Because she’s so awesome,” Charlie always says); and for some reason, sip your beer every time Sansa and Margaery have a conversation. 

There’s two full pages of rules, all categorized by season to maximize the amount of alcohol consumed by each player. Charlie is ruthless.

The good thing about getting absolutely shitfaced to _Game of Thrones_ is that it’s impossible to remember the plot no matter how many times it’s watched. Part of the charm of Charlie’s drinking games is that they can be played over and over because of this. Though this fact wasn’t according to plan originally, she now takes credit for the lucky coincidence. 

“Wait a minute,” Cas says, a couple of shots and one beer in, yet seemingly unaffected by the alcohol, “aren’t those two… siblings?”

Dean takes a reluctant shot. His eyelids feel heavy already. “Yup. _Twins_ , man.”

Cas picks up his shot glass and swallows the contents. “This is very… strange.” He’s at the edge of his seat, studying the TV screen conscientiously.

“You’ve actually never seen this before?” Dean is laying down on the couch, sunken into it with his feet on the floor, balancing the beer bottle on his chest with one hand.

“No,” he says, squinting. Dean tries his very best not to find it adorable. He really, really tries. And fails miserably.

“Oh, would you look at that,” Dean says, now reading through the rules on the sheet of paper. “One more shot when there’s incest.”

Cas reaches for the next shot. 

“We’re going to die, man,” Dean says. He takes a deep breath and counts to three out loud before swallowing the transparent liquid with a shudder. 

Thankfully, the episode ends.

“Dean,” Cas says and turns in his seat to face Dean as the credits roll, speaking so solemnly he might as well be letting Dean in on the darkest secret in the universe. “I haven’t thanked you enough for today. I’m very grateful for you and your brother’s help with my things and of course for you letting me stay here.” He’s just barely slurring his words.

Dean just blinks. 

“You’re a kind man,” Cas continues. “Of course, I don’t know you very well yet, but I’m experienced enough to know that most people wouldn’t help a stranger without hesitation like you have today. So thank you, Dean.”

Dean can’t help but smile. He clinks his beer bottle against Cas’s. “Well,” he says, “you’re welcome, Cas.”

They both take a chug of their beer. 

“Now, play the next episode,” Cas demands.

“You’re so bossy,” Dean mutters with a roll of his eyes, but obeys.

“You seem to have no problem with doing what you’re told,” Cas says flatly and Dean chokes on his beer. 

“What—” He coughs. Cas pats him on the back.

▪ ▪ ▪

Dean would’ve never guessed Cas could hold his liquor the way he does. He’s shorter and smaller than Dean, and yet, Dean is the one seeing double by the end of their second episode. Perhaps that’s an exaggeration, but he squints at the screen and tries his best to keep up with the show.

“Meg,” Cas says suddenly, and for a second Dean thinks he has passed out and is dreaming or he is hallucinating because when the _hell_ did he change his name to Meg? It takes him another moment to see the phone that’s pressed to Cas’s ear, and one more to make him forget. Cas gestures for the remote and Dean pauses the show, leaning back in the couch and closes his eyes as if that would make the room stop spinning. 

“It’s not a great time,” Cas says.

“I for one am having an _awesome_ time!” Dean says, mostly to himself.

“Not you, Dean.”

“Yes, me.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Why would you call me tomorrow, we live in the same—”

“Bye, Meg.”

“My name is Dean.”

“Phone, Dean.” Cas throws his phone on the coffee table.

“I know what a phone is.”

“Okay, I think you’ve had enough.”

▪ ▪ ▪

Soon they’re at the end of another episode; time has moved so quickly. They’ve both kept playing despite Cas’s complaints, but luckily, this one had been relatively safe.

Cas is mirroring his position on the other side of the couch now, slouching in his seat and with his feet on the floor. His eyelids look as heavy as Dean’s feel. Finally, thinks Dean, it’s getting to him. 

“Dean. It’s very strange being here with you tonight,” Cas drawls. 

“Agreed,” Dean answers with a solemn nod. 

“I don’t even know you.” Even in his drunken state, Dean notices how slurred Cas’s words are. 

“Same.”

“But I really like you!” 

“I really like you too!” He gestures aimlessly in Cas’s direction. “You’re really weird, but I like you!”

The end credits start rolling.

▪ ▪ ▪

“Dean, I’ve never done this before...”

“We don’t have to do it if you don’t wanna.”

“I do, I really do.”

“Okay, just a little bit to the left then—”

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah, you’re doing great, now faster. Keep going.”

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Cas exclaims. “I think I died already.”

“Yeah, you did,” Dean says, taking the controller from Cas’ hands. “Here, I’ll show you.” He moves even closer so he can get a better view of the TV, and resumes the game. “Look at my hands and then at the screen and you’ll see what happens when I press the buttons. I’ll take it slow for you.”

“I’m too drunk for this,” Cas complains but does what he’s told, looking down at Dean’s hands.

“You gotta watch the screen too, man,” Dean reminds him.

“Oh, I apologize. Of course.” 

“Look now,” Dean says and combines two of the buttons to use one of the special fighting abilities. Cas keeps looking at his hands, but Dean still asks, “Do you think you can do it now?”

“No.” Suddenly, it’s as if Cas’s eyes are the only things visible right now, their electric blue standing out against the blurry, well, everything. Then, Dean takes an interest in Cas’s lips, pink and wet—he must have licked them. Dean licks his own lips and swallows. 

“Why not?” he asks half-heartedly, thinking more about Cas’s lips than the reason he can’t play the video game. 

“Because…” Cas begins, and Dean could swear he’s starting to lean in closer, and yep, suddenly all he can see is all that blue, and then—

The phone on the coffee tables chimes, and chimes again, and Dean understands that it’s ringing. Before he has time to react, Cas has picked it up and pressed it to his ear. 

“Hello, Meg,” he says, and Dean recalls a vague, drunken memory of that name as if he’d heard it days ago and not minutes. Cas stands and takes his phone with him, disappearing into his room, only a little bit wobbly, but maybe it’s just because Dean is practically seeing double by now.


End file.
